


Going Down with Your Wings on Fire

by CANDYCORE



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: M/M, Mild Gore, Temporary Character Death, fallen angel hongjoong
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:34:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22981078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CANDYCORE/pseuds/CANDYCORE
Summary: In which Yeosang is forced into a bloody, feather-filled, world when an angel in the process of falling arrives on his doorstep.
Relationships: Kang Yeosang/Kim Hongjoong
Comments: 1
Kudos: 25





	Going Down with Your Wings on Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there!
> 
> I'm trying something a little new with my writing. Firstly, this is the first time I have ever written in third person, so I don't know how well it went. Secondly, I don't usually write fic that involve ships like this, but at the recommendation of a friend I am posting it. Hope you guys enjoy it.
> 
> -c.

A relentless storm pounds the windows harder, the winds seemingly shaking the door frames, as Yeosang plunges the earbuds deeper into his ears. The steady bass beat from the song drums in his head as he flips a pen in between his fingers. Losing all hope of finishing the homework for his ancient history professor, he tosses the pen on the coffee table and leans back, letting the couch behind him catch his neck. This class had been beating his ass since the first day, but he needed it to finish his degree, and he wasn’t going to let an old professor with a bad attitude ruin it for him. No way. 

He rips his earbuds back out, probably more aggressive than needed, and rises from his spot on the floor. The stress from preparing for an exam in two weeks was manifesting throughout his entire body, from the pounding headache to the tension in his neck, and he needed a break. Sure, he was thankful the professor was letting the students break from class to prepare for the exam that made up a large chunk of their grade, but he was also frustrated at how little he could remember no matter how hard he studied. 

Thunder cracks outside the window and Yeosang shivers at how  _ close  _ that one felt. It stormed a lot, but something about this one felt different. He couldn’t shake the feeling since the rain started pouring, but he couldn’t place the feeling either. It just felt  _ different.  _ Like something looming over him. Ditching his spread out textbooks, he walks to the small “kitchen” and pours a glass of water. The kitchen, like the rest of the cabin, was small, but it was enough for him. When he received the call that a great-grandfather left Yeosang a cabin in his will, it was unbelievable. His interactions with this great-grandfather were brief if at all, so it didn’t make sense that one of his dying wishes was for Yeosang to have his cabin, but Yeosang was grateful regardless. 

The cabin was small, tucked away at the edge of a forest. It only had a bathroom, a bedroom, and a large main room that the kitchen was part of, but it was enough for him while he finished college. Living alone in a cabin with a great view outside the windows was a lot better than an alcohol and libido filled dorm room, and he was forever happy he wasn’t stuck in the latter. He wanted to finish his general education degree quickly and without distraction, so he could transfer into psychology and, hopefully, become a therapist when it was all over. 

The glass almost drops out of his hand as a heavy knock sounds at the door. He checks the watch on his wrist. 11:07. He places the glass in the sink as his brain tries to think over who could possibly be at the door in the middle of the night. All of his friends were spread out across the globe for their own studies or jobs, the closest of whom would be asleep by now, and nobody from town would visit this late. But, he wasn’t able to think about who was on the other side of the door for much longer, as the slamming open of the door answered the question for him. He stands a few feet away from the door to a spot he didn’t remember walking to, but is faced with a boy he doesn’t recognize on the other side of the door. The boy’s entire body is soaked from rainwater and his lack of a shirt displays gaping cuts all across his stomach. 

Time slows as Yeosang’s brain tries to figure out what is happening in his house and how in the  _ hell  _ this small statured boy was able to literally  _ shatter _ the deadbolt. The door flaps in the wind, returning to its normal place, barely being able to fit due to the shattered wood on what used to be the door frame. Yeosang’s mouth hangs open at the damage from the door, but his mind shifts back to the boy as he sees him walk up to him, if “walk” was even the correct way to describe the way he was moving. It wasn’t a casual walk, but one of a predator with a purpose, with a target, and it seemed like Yeosang was that target. 

I felt like it only took a second for the boy to be in front of Yeosang, his hand pressed against Yeosang’s chest, pushing him back until they reached the wall behind Yeosang. The hand felt unexplainably  _ warm  _ against his chest, he could even feel it through the shirt. Yeosang fought against the boy, but he shoved him back against the wall roughly, Yeosang’s head colliding with the wall. Before Yeosang can fight again, the hand migrates to his throat, squeezing along his airways. It felt like the boy was burning a hole in Yeosang with how warm his hand was. Even if Yeosang tried to fight, he knew that somehow this boy was too strong. Strong in a way that no human should be. With just one hand, he keeps Yeosang pinned to the same spot, and he doesn’t even seem to be straining to do so. Small black dots start to form at the corner of Yeosang’s eyes, his head turning fuzzy and feeling too heavy for his body. 

“Where is he?” The boy practically  _ growls _ at Yeosang, but the only sound that can come out of Yeosang through the hand crushing his throat is some pitiful mix of a cough and a whimper. The boy in front of him hesitates enough that his grip is loosened, which Yeosang takes as a chance to push him off and start running away. After only a few steps, his wrist is seized and he is shoved down against the kitchen island. His right arm pinned behind his back and his face pressed against the marble, shivering at the coolness of it, he gives up the fight and prays this isn’t the end for him.

“Where is he?” The boy behind him repeats the question, shaking Yeosang’s wrist. 

“Who?’ Yeosang stutters out, fear nearly swallowing the word.

“The man who owns this house. Where is he?” Yeosang’s head spins at the question from the boy, his mind flashing back to the phone call he got from a lawyer, explaining the house he inherited. 

“He died,” Yeosang says plainly, not much emotion to the words. Even when he first heard, not much emotion occurred to him. He never met his great-grandpa in person, didn’t really even know much about him until after he heard about the death. 

“What?” The boy says from behind Yeosang, releasing his grip around Yeosang’s wrist and moving the hand that was pressing his head down into the marble. He can hear the boy’s footsteps recede slowly and Yeosang quickly rises and turns, facing the boy’s back. 

Except, the boy’s back isn’t  _ normal.  _ Tucked tightly against the muscles of his back sits paper-thin wings. They’re folded like a bird’s and reach down his entire back. Even with the binding on them, it is obvious they are massive. The grey feathers are stained dark red with what Yeosang assumes is blood. 

“You have..wings?” The words pass Yeosang’s lips before he even realizes he’s talking, and the boy turns around in response.

“Yeah. Angels usually do. Not for long, though.” The boy faces Yeosang, staring him down. Part of Yeosang expects the boy to start laughing, pull off the obviously fake wings, and explain this as a prank or a dare. Part of Yeosang knows that won’t happen, and that this is true and real. 

“What?” 

“God, I’m so royally screwed! You look like a clueless puppy! And I’m supposed to get help from  _ you _ ? Yeah, right.” The boy pinches the bridge of his nose, then runs a hand through his blonde hair, pulling at the ends of it near the base of his neck.

“Slow down, please. Who are you?” Yeosang presses his back hard against the island, maybe letting the pain remind him that this isn’t a dream and there is actually an admittedly handsome stranger with wings standing in his living room. 

“Hongjoong. I’m an angel of the Lord. Well, I  _ used  _ to be.” Yeosang’s mind runs at a million miles a minute as the boy talks, trying to keep up with all of the information that is being thrown at him.

“You fell?” Yeosang doesn’t know much about angels, especially when he doesn’t,  _ didn’t _ , believe in them, but he has a limited knowledge of it. He knows the main ideas, but basically no details. 

“Pretty much. Now I’m supposed to be asking the man who owns this house to be helping me, but look how that’s going.” Hongjoong’s voice sounds almost hysterical and Yeosang can tell he’s panicking, maybe even scared. Despite being confused and a little scared, Yeosang has a gut instinct to help Hongjoong. That’s what Yeosang has always done. Helped people. Hongjoong shouldn’t be any different. Yeosang takes a deep breath before choosing his next words.

“Let me help you.”

That’s how Yeosang ends up sorting through the bathroom for a first aid kit while quickly dialing a phone number. Craning his neck so he can hold the phone up to his ear, he digs through each drawer and cabinet, not finding anything. 

“Hello?” Yunho’s voice cracks through the receiver after four rings. Yunho’s voice still sounds soft from sleep, making Yeosang silently apologize for waking him up. Desperate times, though. 

“I need your help.” Yeosang hears what are probably blankets moving around in the background.

“I’m not going to look down your throat and decide if it’s cancer or just a sore throat again.” Yunho mutters. Ever since Yunho started pre-med, Yeosang and his mild hypochondria had been benefiting from Yunho’s knowledge. Luckily, they looked at each other like brothers and, no matter how annoying they could get, they would never leave each other. A number of years and bizarre events and arguments showcased that.

“It’s not that. How do you do stitches?” Yeosang finally finds the first aid kit, packed in the very back of the cabinet under the sink. He has to wipe a layer of dust off the top. He can hear Yunho move on the other end of the line, probably sitting straight up, as when he talks all the sleepiness is gone from his voice.

“Uh, you go to the emergency room and let the professionals handle it.”

“Yunho, if that were an option I would already be at the hospital.” Yeosang leaves the bathroom and tosses the kit on the coffee table, Hongjoong watching him from his seat on the couch.

“What happened?” Yunho’s voice changes from annoyance to concern.

“They aren’t for me. Please, just trust me.” Yeosang pleads, sticking out his bottom lip without realizing it. Hongjoong’s worst wound was a wide cut near the top of his ribs, blood pouring out. Yeosang’s first thought was to give him stitches, then the next thought was Yunho. 

“Fine. Put me on speaker. You’ll need both hands.”

“Thank you. I owe you.” Yeosang says as he follows the commands he was given.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re lucky I love you.” Yeosang sits the phone on the coffee table next to the first aid kit, speaker now on and the lid of the first aid kit off and somehow on the floor. 

Yunho carefully talks Yeosang through the stitches he needs to give, telling him every step as it goes by. Yeosang cringes as he has to pierce Hongjoong’s skin with the needle, he cringes at the way the wound tightens with more stitches, he cringes at the sound of flesh ripping. As much as Yeosang is pulling Hongjoong’s skin, Hongjoong doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even groan from the pain of the stitches over his stomach. Yeosang knows that if he were experiencing how much pain Hongjoong has to be going through, he would probably be screaming, crying, or vomiting. Maybe all three.

“Clean it and change the gauze every couple hours. Don’t get any other’s bodily fluids in it. No pools or hot tubs. Showers are okay, but don’t submerge it. So, no baths.” Yunho’s voice instructs through the speaker on the phone, telling Yeosang how to avoid infection. Yeosang had briefly explained that the stitches weren’t actually for  _ him,  _ but for somebody else. Yunho questioned it at first, but after pleading from Yeosang to not push it now and let him explain later, Yunho quieted and continued his instructions. 

“Thank you so much.” Yeosang drops the needle onto the table, it clanging against the small surface not taken up by Yeosang’s homework, still unfinished. 

“You owe me food.” Yunho says through the phone, demanding his price for help. The price seems small compared to the favor, and Yeosang is thankful that Yunho is one of his best friends. 

“I promise. I’ll see you soon.” Yeosang replies, then the phone line disconnects. Hongjoong watches Yeosang pack up the first aid kit, and walk to the kitchen trash can, throwing away every blood stained towel and the needle off the floor. His eyes wide, he waits patiently for the boy to return to the couch. Yeosang does, pulling his legs up under himself and facing the angel sitting across from him. Hongjoong’s wound looks rough, the blood having stained his side as it ran down. The hairs on Hongjoong’s arms stand up, creating small goosebumps along his skin. Hongjoong’s hair is still wet from the rain and is only clothing is a pair of paints, letting the cold air pumping through the air conditioner hit his skin. 

Before Yeosang can stop himself, he reaches his hand out and places it softly on Hongjoong’s shoulder. Despite the shivering coming from Hongjoong, his skin feels hot, like it’s on fire. He feels like he’s running a fever, one so bad it’s burning Yeosang’s hand. Hongjoong watches him, eyes wide with confusion. He hasn’t said a word since Yeosang decided to help him, and his feelings are practically hidden behind the brown eyes. 

“Why do you feel so warm?” Yeosang says, his voice barely above a whisper. Hongjoong wraps his hand, just as warm, around Yeosang’s wrist gently, then pulls Yeosang’s hand off of him. Yeosang watches him, eyes wide like a puppy. 

“Don’t worry about it. I’m actually cold anyway,” Hongjoong speaks for the first time in what feels like forever. As if the air conditioner wants to emphasize Hongjoong’s words, it hums just a bit louder. Or maybe it didn’t and Yeosang’s brain made it up to get him to do something, but either way it works.

“Come on.” Yeosang stands off the couch and motions for Hongjoong to follow him, who doesn’t move. He stares at Yeosang, watching him intently, head tilted just a bit to the side.

“Why?” He drags out the word.

“You should take a shower. Come on,” Yeosang repeats the command and, this time, Hongjoong listens to him, rising from his spot on the couch and following Yeosang. They walk the short distance to the bathroom. Yeosang pulls a towel out from the cabinet under the sink and sitting it on the counter next to the sink, turns on the heater, then facing back to Hongjoong.

“Take a shower. I’ll bring you some of my clothes you can put on.” Yeosang’s voice turns bossy like he’s instructing a toddler what to do, and it feels weird to be so authoritative to a being that could easily crush his skull. Regardless, Hongjoong nods and squeezes past Yeosang in the thin bathroom, standing next to the shower and turning the water on. Yeosang turns to leave, his hand on the doorknob, but freezes when Hongjoong’s voice, soft and cautious, stops him.

“Wait.” Yeosang waits two beats, then turns around when Hongjoong doesn’t reply. What he sees surprises him; Hongjoong looking down at the floor, as if he’s embarrassed about what he’s about to say. His cheeks almost seem tinted with a light shade of pink, but Yeosang can’t tell why. Maybe the heat from the heater, still pushing hot air into the small space of the bathroom.

“Yeah?”

“Can I….uh,” Hongjoong scratches the back of his head. “Do I have permission to unbind my wings?”

Yeosang stares, dumbfounded at the question. Granted, he’s never shared his bathroom with an angel, but it wasn’t a question he expected. As he thinks more about it, he realizes how cramped Hongjoong must feel. His wings have been bound tightly against his back for Yeosang doesn’t even know how long. 

“Why couldn’t you?” Is the first thing that leaves Yeosang’s mouth, and Hongjoong’s glance drops back to the white tile flooring. Yeosang immediately regrets his question when Hongjoong takes his lower lip in between his noticeably white teeth and he keeps switching his weight back and forth between his two feet. Curse his curious nature, but hey, to be fair he doesn’t know what questions are and aren’t okay to ask an angel.

“They’re really big and I know it could be an inconvenience. I don’t want to…”

“Hey, stop. It’s perfectly fine.” Yeosang interrupts Hongjoong. While he may not actually  _ know _ if it is fine _ ,  _ he does know that Hongjoong is nervous. He can see that much, and he doesn’t want that. He is supposed to help him, even if that means Hongjoong’s wings shatter a shower tile or two.

A small smile spreads across Hongjoong’s lips as he glances back up. He nods hard and fast, at least over ten times, the smile still on his face. It’s not a big smile, but Yeosang can still tell that Hongjoong is happy, thankful even. Yeosang just offers back a smile and slips out of the door, closing it behind him and resting his head against it. He can hear the glass door of the shower open and close. So, this is his reality now. An angel is taking a shower in his bathroom after smashing the door in.  _ The door. _

For the first time since Hongjoong arrived, Yeosang can take in his circumstances. Pushing himself off the bathroom door, his feet take him to the front door. The deadbolt is shattered, metal pieces scattering on the floor like confetti. The door can just barely fit back in place, some wood shards sticking out. While the door can fit back in its place, he can’t lock it. Something about being out in the wilderness with an unlocked door doesn’t sit right with him. He sighs, leaving the door in its current condition. It isn’t like there is much he can do about it in the middle of the night anyway. 

He changes his direction, padding toward his bedroom just past the bathroom. The dark oak of his dresser is snuggled against the wall opposite to his bed. Wrapping his hand around the knob on the third drawer, he pulls it open all the way. Digging through the drawer he never uses, he pulls out a pair of black sweatpants and a navy blue sweater with “KANG” and the number 99 printed across the back. He hasn’t worn his baseball team’s sweater since he stopped playing and it feels slightly weird to be letting somebody else wear it, but it’s the biggest one and probably the only one Hongjoong’s wings will fit in. 

Deciding that these clothes will work for the night, he starts the walk back to the bathroom. He presses his ear against the door and once he can hear that the water is still on, he wraps his hand around the knob and opens the door again. The heat hits his face like a wall, turning his cheeks pink. The large mirror taking up half of the wall above the long counter fogs completely. He places the clothes on the counter next to the towel. The dark of the clothes and the blue towel sits in contrast to the white marble countertop. 

“The clothes are on the counter. I’m going to go to bed.” Yeosang turns to leave, but before he can even reach the door, a voice stops him. 

“Hey.” Yeosang turns around and he can feel his breath stopping in his chest at the sight. Hongjoong had peeked out of the shower, resting his cheek on the glass door. His hair sticks to his forehead and the base of his neck, water droplets dripping off the tips. The water falls into his face, dripping off of his dark eyelashes and then off his face, down to his collarbones. For the first time since Hongjoong walked into the door, Yeosang is actually getting a good look at him. And it’s leaving him utterly  _ breathless _ and his cheeks rosy. Granted, Hongjoong is literally ethereal, but he didn’t expect this.

“Why are you helping me?” Luckily, Hongjoong speaks before Yeosang has to and snaps him out of his gaze.

“Uh. I don’t know if I have an answer to that.” Is the most Yeosang could say. He hadn’t expected that question and he didn’t have much of an answer to it. It’s not like he had time to sit down and mentally debate the question. Hongjoong’s head tilts to the side, hair flopping with him. The silence from Hongjoong encourages Yeosang to continue, even if it’s more of rambling than an actual intelligent response.

“I have always tried to help people, I guess. I am planning on being a therapist, after all...I don’t know it just feels natural to help others. It always has. Whenever somebody is in need, I try my best to help them. You were in need, what kind of person would I be if I turned you away? Plus, if you said you were supposed to meet my grandfather some generations ago, isn’t it my destiny?”

“Do you actually believe in destiny?” Hongjoong asks, making Yeosang pause. He hasn’t actually thought about the prospect of destiny before and, truthfully, the only reason he mentioned it was to get the spotlight off of himself. 

“I...don’t know. I like to think I make my own decisions and it’s not some celestial plan set before I’m born, but who knows? Up until now, I didn’t really even believe in any god, either,” Yeosang speaks, until he realizes he’s been rambling again and quickly stops, uttering an apology.

“Don’t apologize. I like hearing you talk about your thoughts.” Hongjoong smiles. An actual, true smile. Yeosang offers a tight grin back. As much as he wants to continue talking to Hongjoong, he can feel the exhaustion making his brain hazy. He tries to bite back a yawn, but to no avail. He mouth opens, a small whimper sounding as he yawns. Hongjoong watches him, smile still in place on his face. 

“Go to sleep. I’ll be fine,” Hongjoong says, pulling the glass door closed and returning to his shower.

“Okay. You can sleep on the couch, if you want.”

“Yeah, uh, I don’t really sleep.” Hongjoong’s voice sounds over the water stream. 

“Well, good. You can keep an eye on the front door. Keep anybody from breaking in,” Yeosang speaks with a laugh. 

“Fine.” Hongjoong’s voice sounds laced with something that could be described as entertained. Maybe.

“Goodnight, Hongjoong.”

“Goodnight, Yeosang. Thank you.”


End file.
